South of the Pavement
by beachLEMON
Summary: Hermione is convinced that her friend had not committed suicide. It was murder and she is out to prove it. What she can't figure out, is why Draco seems to want to help her. And why is her hate for Draco starting to dwindle? DracoHermione.
1. Ajar

Chapter 1 

"Shit, I don't recognize any of these books," Blaise muttered, running a hand through his dark, charcoal hair as he picked up the parchment one more time. He looked at his project partner for any indication that he at least knew some of the authors needed for this project, but the blonde beside him just raised an eyebrow at his questioning look.

"Recognizing a book would require reading some. Yeah, I can see where the problem would arise for you."

He should've seen that coming.

"I'll take that beautifully executed demonstration of how large of arse you are to mean that you'll find everything on the list that we need," Blaise replied irritably, shaking his head as he slammed the parchment on the opened book in front of Draco.

The blonde just sat back in his seat and folded his arms behind his head in a leisurely manner. His eyes briefly acknowledged the placement of the list in front of him before he turned back to randomly scanning the classroom of seemingly asleep students.

"Taking into account that I'm the only one interested in this project, it would make sense, yes," Draco replied slowly, his eyes finally settling on his misfortune: his project partner. 

Blaise, though a close friend of his, was probably the laziest git to have ever graced planet Earth. While Draco thought himself to be cunning and mischievous, doing the minimal amount of work needed when others can be recruited to do it for him, he thought Blaise to be completely useless, always snaking around what has to be done and blabbering on endlessly about it. But that was just Draco—always thinking the best of people.

"You're saying you actually give a shit about some old bloke and his bloody mad family whose likes included chopping each other up to bits?"

Draco pursed his lips and continued to stare at the perplexed Blaise as he dropped his arms to his side, still leaning back in his chair. Honest question.

"No...I'm saying it's got a certain mysterious...quality...about it. They're all stark raving mad, no denying it, but..." he trailed off, yawning and slamming his book shut just in time for Professor Binns to dismiss the class. 

Shrugging, he and Blaise stood up in synchrony, both pushing in their chairs before picking up their knapsacks.

"Whatever, mate," Blaise shook his head and patted Draco on the shoulder as he headed towards the door. "Starting to sound like Granger there."

At the mention of her name, Draco instinctively turned to the still seated Gryffindor, thoroughly entranced in her book, not even aware that class had ended. She sat all alone in the back corner of the class, nose usually buried in a non-educational text throughout the entire period. Today wasn't any different. Secluded and peaceful, she never stirred until she looked up to see no one present or the clueless Professor Binns finally noticed that there was still a student left in the classroom.

Draco shook his head and walked towards the door, not looking back a second time. He remembered a time when the girl was always surrounded with friends, whether it was the insufferable Potter or the pathetic by nature Weasley; even others. But that was before the war, before the death, before the separation of the Golden Trio and before the emotional breakdown of all that was good and evil.

The war had definitely taken its toll on Draco, definitely put pressures on him he wished he'd somehow be able to sidestep but was offered no such option. But afterwards, something so unexpected happened that took the entire wizarding community by storm. The news had startled everyone, that was an understatement, but it was obvious whom it had hit the most. Hermione was in that category.

That was when Draco remembered her separating herself from all that she knew and growing practically catatonic. He remembered her spending all her time researching, spending every possible minute in the library to investigate what had happened. She heard the story straight from Dumbledore but she didn't believe it. She didn't believe what most people had grown to accept over a few short months, and to this day he guessed that she still didn't believe it.

Hermione refused to believe that her best friend, golden boy to all but a few, and generally kind-hearted to all, Harry Potter, had taken his own life.

______

Draco sighed, his frustration threatening to take over the better of him, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was _not_ going to let Blaise prove him right about this. It was _not_ that hard to find a couple of books. Okay, six. 

Running his gaze over the different titles on the spines of the books in front of him, he finally noticed one that had been in front of him the entire time. Removing it, he noticed an occupant on the other side of the bookcase visible through the newly-formed gap in the shelf where Draco's desired book had been. 

She was sitting at the table, hunched over a thick text, idly twirling her quill which had yet to be tainted with the unopened ink. Her other hand was holding up her head, eyes drooping ever so slowly, but it was obvious that she wouldn't let herself quit simply because of exhaustion. 

Sighing, Draco collected the last book he was sure to find in that section and set off across the library to the biography section, eyes wandering across book spines once more. 

Another half hour passed before his eyes began to blur and he felt the strong necessity to curse every single book he looked at that _wasn't_ the one he needed. He felt they were all taunting him, their placement on the shelves plain for him to see, but all friends and hiding the one he was looking to check out. It was ridiculous; books didn't keep one of their own in hiding. But Draco was beyond logic at that point.

"Damn it," he hissed, brushing his hair back with his hand. Turning around and leaning against the shelf of books he'd searched at least four times over, he briefly glanced at his list of titles again, hoping the names would magically change. No such luck. "Sir Woudrow Caulston...where are you..."

For a moment, the silence seemed to mock him, and Draco leaned his head back closing his eyes temporarily. He wished this particular library visit to be over promptly, books in hand so that he could leave the horrid place that seemed to swallow the only books he wanted.

"Bottom row, third from the left," came the feminine instruction, voice interrupting his peaceful mental whine and causing him to snap his eyes open. Hermione motioned to the bottom left corner of the shelf. "The dark blue one."

Draco eyed her carefully, wondering when she'd managed to step in this particular row of books when he'd been in blissful solitude just a few seconds ago, but decided against staring at her too feverently and simply followed her instructions. 

Bending down and plucking the book from its original place on the shelf, he eyed the blank blue cover and opened the book, only to be met with a satisfactory title he'd been searching for during the last thirty minutes. He couldn't help but think of how much time was wasted looking for a book that had apparently been there all along, but his overwhelming relief about getting to leave the library overcame his desire to whine. 

Whirling around, he looked down at his list.

"Hey, do you know where _Coveted Descents_...is...?" 

She'd just been there are minute ago. Furrowing his eyebrows, Draco just shook his head and cursed his luck at how close he actually came to being freed from the throes of the dusty library.

Walking into the centre of the library, it took him all of two seconds to spot her at the table he'd seen her previously, still twirling her quill absent-mindedly, although this time he noticed it had been dipped in ink. A few long strides presented Draco right in front of his target, his steely gaze staring down at her bent head, hair falling carelessly about her face and shoulders. She didn't look up as he approached, nor as he continued to stand in front of her, staring as though his glances were words.

After a few minutes of this, Draco began to wonder whether the girl was even in a right mental state. He knew she was aware of his presence. The fact that he hadn't said anything did nothing to appease her lack of response to him being there. The least she could've done was look up.

As he was finally preparing to speak, Hermione dropped her quill into her ink bottle and turned the page of her book.

"What?"

She didn't even look up or stop reading as she awaited an answer from Draco. Yes, she'd noticed his presence, but if he wasn't willing to act like a normal human being and speak when he approached her, neither was she. However, his stance in front of her and his hawk-like watch over her didn't appeal to Hermione at all. She'd always been a private person, especially about things she knew would only send students laughing or whispering after they found out what she was reading; researching.

Draco just stared at this girl's calm demeanor and wondered when exactly it was that he'd changed in respects to Hermione and his interaction with her. He felt no need to insult her anymore, to criticize or ridicule her. He also speculated that that the feeling was mutual, that they both wanted to stay out of each other's way. But that wasn't it. Draco supposed that somehow he'd mustered up understanding for this girl because of what had happened to her best friend. Loss was a bitch and he knew it. 

Maybe the fact that Hermione was now always on her own, reading day and night, changed his attitude towards her. What fun would it be to make fun of someone who did nothing especially amusing? Or, Draco mused cautiously, I leave her alone because she's so fragile.

"Nothing," he answered, his stubborn demeanor taking over, despite his seemingly profound revelations about Hermione's unstable state of mind. Once a bitch, always a bitch, he figured. She was the one that didn't even acknowledge his presence.

Rolling his eyes, he whirled around and headed toward the library exit to check out his books, when he suddenly turned back.

"You know you can't keep doing this, Granger," Draco sighed, plopping his books down on the table, startling her ink can and the quill resting in it. Overall, it seemed that was all he'd startled. Hermione remained unphased by his sudden intrusion. "You can't keep living like a bleedin' log in the library. Are you even hearing this?"

"Due to my unfortunate possession of ears, yes," Hermione responded boredly, still not looking up, but Draco continued as if she hadn't even spoken.

"When you showed me where that book was—those were the first words I'd heard out of you all year ever since..." Shifting uncomfortably, Draco weighed his options of whether to mention Harry's name in front of her. "What the hell, I'll say it: ever since Potter died; ever since he _killed himself_."

"Shut. The _hell_. Up," Hermione uttered ever so slowly as she stood up in her chair to meet Draco's full height. She was shorter but at that moment, she felt no such thing as she met his grey eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about, little boy, so turn around, go back to the dungeons and frolic with your cronies or Pansy or whatever the hell it is that you do, but _do not_ approach me and have the audacity to speak of Harry's death as if you were above it. Because you're _so _far from it. As far as I'm concerned, he was and always will remain the _man_ you will never be."

Draco almost felt the need to step back to respect Hermione's angry villain kick-ass girl power attitude, but refrained from giving her little melodramatic scene anymore oomph than it had already accumulated.

Placing his palms down on either side of his books, he leaned in, his face getting closer to Hermione with every given centimeter before he finally stopped when he recognized the flame settling down a bit in her eyes.

"Go ahead, baby, tell me about the grand qualities of Potter that I lack. Tell me about all that he was that I'll never come close to because I'm a dreaded, evil Malfoy like no other. Preach to me about how he preached to others in a time of doom, but for the love of Merlin, _stop_ referring to him in present tense," Draco growled, his voice low but heavy, accentuating every word with his tone _and_ his piercing eyes. "He's gone. Dead. Passed on. Not here; will never be here again. Fuck, Granger, even the _Weasleys_ understand that by now. It's been four months. At risk of sounding like I care, get yourself together and live your bloody life." Draco pushed off the table and shook his head. "For him if not for you."

Whirling around, Hermione watched Draco's retreating back as his Slytherin robes billowed behind him in attempt to keep up with his rapid exit.

She found herself standing in front of her thick text, parchment, and quill, more shaken up than she'd been since she'd stopped crying consecutively about Harry, a good month ago. 

That bloody bastard. Her only comforting thoughts at that point were the rehearsed lines she'd shared with Ron and Harry so many times before: Malfoy is such a selfish prick, Malfoy, that flaming imbecile, that stupid git, Malfoy. 

He wasn't the first to approach Hermione about her practically accurate imitation of a coma her life had become, but no one had come out and just said what had been on his mind. No one had said that about Harry; about her. They kept that to themselves, if they even thought that at some point.

Hermione found herself with an endless supply of unshed tears welling up in her eyes as she looked around the otherwise serene and calm library. Standing still, she let Draco's words sink into her further while trying to fight them off at the same time, before a tear finally slipped down her cheek.

Spotting the stack of abandoned books Draco forgot to take with him on the way out of the library, Hermione suddenly lunged at them, pushing them to the floor with all her might as if Draco was, somehow, being bruised with his books as they hit the ground.

Ignoring the deafening silence of her corner of the library as there was nothing left that she desired to push, Hermione plopped down back in her chair and wiped her eyes hurriedly before packing up all her things. 

Standing up, she slung her knapsack over her shoulder before pressing both of her palms down on the cool table and leaning on it as she squeezed her eyes shut. 

Hermione tried her best to ignore it, but still seemed to sense the nagging suspicion that, as fucking inappropriate and out of line his words had been, Draco Malfoy had been right. 

________

Holla back to Priah for all her help.


	2. Can't

Chapter 2 

-

It was after dinner that Blaise strode up to the blonde whom had been relaxing by the common room fire, book in hand and concentration solely devoted to that of the author's creation.

"Hey, mate," Blaise greeted, nodding his head toward an oblivious Draco as he plopped down in an armchair beside him. "Reading, I see. Anything you'd recommend?"

If one had been watching, they might have assumed that Draco didn't even hear Blaise as he made no move to respond beside lowering his book enough so to glare at the sudden intrusion of privacy over the pages before resuming his read.

Blaise rolled his eyes at his predictable housemate and sighed as he sat forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and hands clamped together.

"Right. Bugger the small talk," Blaise decided, annoyed. "You never were one for small formalities. Look, I just came by to see if you found everything we need for Binns' project. You _did_ find the books okay?"

Draco repeated his previous his previous gesture with the small addition of an agitated sigh.

"Let me guess this straight. You're insinuating that I went to the _library_, searched for our books, and brought nothing back, like an idiot?" he bit out slowly, eyes narrowing at his Housemate. "That in a place of widely-spread knowledge, where books are scattered about of all shapes and sorts, I couldn't find a measly six?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something.

"Look-"

"That just because you don't even know what a book rightly _is_, I'm incapable of gathering data needed for _our_ project?"

Draco's gaze didn't waver.

Blaise wiped his nose and looked at the floor before briefly looking back up at his partner.

"What-uh, no, of course not," Blaise delivered, before offering him a nice, shiny smile. "Seems that you have everything right under control."

Draco simply raised an eyebrow, as if to proclaim, 'No shit, you ponce,' before standing up from his arm chair and setting down his book.

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go down to the kitchens and pick up a bite to eat," he threw over his shoulder. "You know, because I missed dinner, _working_."

Stepping out in the dark dungeons, out of his dormitory, Draco looked around coolly before adjusting his collar and proceeding down the hall.

Now about those books he left in the library before dinner. Bloody hell.

___________

This was not a place Draco wanted to visit twice in one day. It was not his idea of great location for a quiet activity or catching up on extra reading; it was boring, musky, and dark. And not in the good let's-have-sex-capades-in-the-secluded-corner kind of way unless Madame Pince was the object of one's affection, not just the inevitable yelling spectator from the side.

His eyes didn't need to scan the library a full time before spotting Hermione. He made a beeline straight to her table, determined to make this a quick exchange. Hopefully she'd forgotten about that whole... insulting of thee sacred Potter thing.

Draco cleared his throat, trying to exterminate the sudden déjà vu feeling of being in the same position in front of Hermione not too long ago. That was just... out of the norm.

Getting no response, Draco wondered briefly if the girl knew he was there and ignored him on purpose or required some serious hearing aid. After all, this wasn't the first time it happened. Even so, he wasn't placing any bets.

"Hermione," Draco announced. "I left my..." 

Her head shot up at his voice, either startled by its unorthodox presence or in rapid, growing dislike and distrust of whom it belonged to. Either way, her eyes didn't hold the answers; only portrayed a blank exterior such of her face.

"My books," Draco continued, briefly fazed by her sudden acknowledgement of his presence. "I left them here. Have you seen them?"

Hermione's eyes flickered down to her notes for a moment, before she shrugged nonchalantly and pursed her lips. 

"What books?"

"You know, the books I was looking for," Draco explained impatiently, looking down patronizingly at her as he formed a shape of a book in thin air with his hands. "The ones I left. _Library_ books."

Her quill stopped mid-sentence, having already returned to writing down notes by the time Draco responded, and her brown eyes searched for his hesitantly as they made their way up his body slowly and locked when they found the two counterpart orbs.

"You're asking if I've seen any library books?" Hermione bit out dryly, exaggerating her movements as she looked around at the stacked shelves of Hogwarts' expansive collection. "_No_, not recently." 

Back to her notes.

Draco rolled his eyes, determined to shed light on how completely amateur that response had been, when his eyes fell upon the book Hermione was looking at. Bitch.

"That's one of them," he pointed surely at Hermione's text as she sighed heavily and painfully craned her neck back up from the words on the page. "Give it back."

Disbelief fled over Hermione's features as Draco's stubbornness seemed to have no limits in her gaze.

"What? No," she answered promptly. Draco's brow furrowed as a frown settled upon his face.

"I need that book, you saw me looking for it," he explained angrily, running a free hand through his hair in annoyance. "It's mine to take."

Hermione didn't even look up from her notes this time as her quill continued scribbling and she paid no mind to his incessant banter. 

Shaking his head, he decided that actions spoke louder than words with this chick. After all, absorbed in her note-taking, she wouldn't hear Exploding Snaps being played not two centimeters from her.

Reaching for the book, he was about to slip it into his arm and flounce straight out of the library, when Hermione closed it unexpectedly and slid it into her book bag with ease.

"Hey! What are you-"

"I'm not playing tug of war with you, Malfoy, so save your breath because you're not getting this book. I need it," she explained, packing up her parchment and complimentary accessories with the same fluent grace. "If you want to use it for whatever burning purpose you have, you can first work hard at removing that stick from your arse and then ask to share it with me."

Looking around one last time to make sure she had everything, Hermione closed the sling to her knapsack and made her way toward the library door, not even sparing Draco another look.

The blonde couldn't believe his ears. Who did she think she was? Not to mention, they _both_ knew that she had no use for that book, nor the other five for that matter. And now she had the nerve to tell him that she was willing to _share_. He was completely not even going to recount that stick-in-the-arse part.

Shaking his head, he headed for he exit as well and walked within hearing distance of Hermione.

"Verdict's in, Granger; spending more time in that library than ever has _definitely_ improved your bitch quality," he remarked, veering off towards the left, ready to descend down to the dungeons. "I always suspected your lack of personality and social grace had something to do with that musk and lack of proper oxygen level." 

Hermione let the words sink in a beat before throwing an annoyed look over her shoulder.

"Go to hell."

Draco smirked and descended down the steps while Hermione turned right down a separate corridor.

"Well, if that's where we're meeting." Draco stopped. "Hell. Ten after ten. Bring those books."

Out of nowhere, Hermione's voice trailed from somewhere deep within the corridor she'd chosen down to Draco's ears; her having the last word, just to spite him.

"But what will you do about that stick?"

________

Hermione's back touched with her bedspread and her hair fanned around her head as she exhaled and closed her eyes in exhaustion. How long had she been doing this? How long had those books been searched? How much information had been incorporated and compared? And what good was it all?

Not as to say that it had been a complete waste. She knew that Harry did not kill himself. Now, more than ever, she was positive. There were so many little hints she knew she could find. If she could just have some help; just a push in the right direction. It was like looking for something that was right under your nose the entire time.

She knew a de-tracer had been used. Wands weren't exactly murder-proof. The killer must have known that the investigation wouldn't last more than an hour before they found the wand that had cast the spell on Harry. It wouldn't be hard; nothing the Ministry didn't have in one spell book or another.

De-tracing, however, was pretty much murder-proof. Spells would never follow through when searching for the culprit wand because they would be thrown off track. It would have been easy to cast a de-tracer on Harry's body after murder; just the flick of a wand. It wasn't advanced, it wasn't time-consuming. It was just... uncommon. De-tracing wasn't taught. It was almost a lost spell. Whomever had used it must have had great knowledge of their magic or been in cahoots with someone else that was. Another perk to de-tracing: it practically let the murderer off the hook if he or she played their cards right and left the scene without incriminating evidence.

_Practically._

Nothing was impossible. Nothing was full-proof. And nothing was going to get past her.

Hermione rolled over on her side and exhaled another breath before concentrating on clearing her mind and thinking of nothing. Without taking off her robes or school uniform, she drifted off to sleep with only an allowed hour or two set aside for rest. Her aching body welcomed the rarely-offered treat as she leveled her breathing and progressed into the unwelcoming land of nightmares with one last promise carved on her thoughts:

No matter what it takes, no matter how long, I'll find who killed you, Harry. I'll find who killed you.

_________

Her eyes landed on his relaxed form and she raised eyebrow in response, but continued on her path until she reached him.

"Oh, the irony," was the first thing out of her mouth, her tone allowing solely boredom to decorate it. Draco grinned.

"That this is hell for both of us?"

Hermione snorted then opened the door, leading the way in. 

"Don't tell Trelawney," she replied as she set down her book bag and withdrew the same text that she'd been looking through during the couple's previous confrontation. She glanced up at a restless Draco. "Knew the unlock spell?"

"Gravy. Not exactly Alohomora, but the old bat hasn't changed it since last year," he replied easily, his eyes earnestly looking at the books he needed. He wasn't all that excited about the project-especially in this predicament he was in-but the faster he got his information for the day, the faster he could leave the presence of Moaning Myrtle's depression successor. Hermione was a lot more... tolerable back when her signature look was sans the 'Stop making eye contact as if I give a fuck about you' advertisement.

Not that Draco wasn't all for that look. He just didn't fancy being on the receiving end of it.

Hermione had already settled down and scattered her notes and parchment in some sort of order that surely made sense to her, books open and quill ready. Leaning back against the wall and using one book as a hard surface to perch her soon-to-used parchment on, she gave Draco a brief glance before starting her researching. He guessed that meant that he could sit beside her and make use of the book whenever he was ready.

Shrugging, he took his own few parchment pieces and settled down on the ground besides at a comfortable distance, deciding that a meter or two between them was a right necessity. Hermione didn't notice his hesitation. Draco was not surprised.

He poised his quill over the parchment as if to write something, only to realize that he'd need to read the information from the book before he had anything to paraphrase. He looked to his right to see Hermione busily scribbling, probably totally oblivious to the fact that he was looking at her or that he was even there. Taking advantage of her ignorant state, Draco's curiosity steered his gaze down to her paper, catching a glimpse of a few words before he was met with a hasty, sleeved hand covering the text. He raised his eyes only to be fed a glance of pure anger and violation, courtesy of Hermione.

Promptly, she picked up the book by its cover and dumped it on his lap forcefully, her eyes not leaving his as she did so.

"I believe _this_ is the reading material I agreed to share. Enjoy."

Deciding that nodding would be the most likely action to get a least violent response, Draco simply shrugged a shoulder and diverted her eyes back to the book in his lap and began taking notes he knew he wouldn't remember in ten minutes. 

Both working silently-Hermione now looking at a new book that was also of value to Draco-neither even looked up occasionally to check the time or relieve their necks of the much-acquired stress from craning over a book. Draco didn't want Hermione to go ballistic-woman on him for accidentally glancing in the direction of her precious notes and Hermione didn't want to waste a moment from taking down her precious notes.

It was only when Hermione let out a long sigh and dropped her quill audibly that Draco looked up, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. She'd proceeded to stare ahead of her and rub the back of her neck slowly with one hand in rotating circles. She almost looked... normal at that moment. Like a stressed teenage girl with a neck cramp sitting next to a boy in a classroom she was not allowed to be in this time of night. She certainly didn't seem like a shell of a girl that once inhabited this body and took care of it; that once produced thought to send out through the exterior and touch individuals around her; that once lived and breathed and laughed and yawned and yelled and fell and ate and cheered.

Hermione's head turned to Draco suddenly, aware of his staring marathon, even if it was supposed to be inconspicuous.

"What?" she asked dully, with a touch of caution. Was she responding to the fact that he was a Malfoy and might be up to something? Was she worried about being with him and his little schemes and whatnot?

Her hands immediately went to cover her notes.

Oh. She was worried about her precious notes. About her precious theories.

"Please. Don't go through the trouble of covering your sacred late-night scribbles as though I cared," he offered dryly before leaning his head back against the wall and looking straight ahead. He was aware of Hermione looking at him for a second more than customary, as if calculating what he said, before turning back to her back and beginning to write again.

Deciding to call it a night, more out of respect for himself than out of self-satisfaction that he got enough notes down, he stood up and stretched his arms luxuriously above his head before gathering what few parchments he had and turning toward the door.

"Same time tomorrow."

He didn't ask. He felt he didn't need to. After all, he had a better purpose for use of the books-more of a reason to use them than Hermione did. At least his purposes were educational as opposed to hers that were just... creepy.

"Uh..." Hermione squinted as she ran her finger along a specific line on the page and copied down some apparently important information feverently. "Yeah... whatever. Same time."

Draco shook his head as he looked at her gathering information at a brisk pace, jotting down word after word with impeccable energy for someone with several shades of dark circles around her eyes. With this determination, Draco wondered if the girl even ate. He already figured she rarely slept. She wasn't exactly skin and bones, but he had a strong feeling that the word 'yet' needed to be attached to that thought. 

Hermione looked up, catching Draco looking at her openly for the second time. She didn't even ask this time, just stared with a questioning glance.

"It wasn't the Imperius," Draco suddenly offered, hand on the door knob.

"Excuse me?" Hermione's eyes were wide with anxiety, trying to figure out if what he said had any relevance to... anything.

"Potter. He probably wasn't under the Imperius curse when he died," Draco explained calmly, inwardly anticipating some sort of violent lash out.

Hermione's anxiety immediately left, making way for the inevitable anger that bubbled to the surface as soon as Draco's words registered in her brain.

"You bastard. What do you think you're doing, looking at my personal stuff?" Hermione fumed, quickly gathering her things in a frenzy so as to stand up and be leveled with a weary Draco. "Did the paranoid looks and obvious covering of my notes not clue you in that you're _not_ welcome to butt the fuck in?"

Shaking her head she simply stormed past him and knocked his hand off the door knob, replacing it with her own.

"I can't believe I ever thought this would work," Hermione muttered to herself before snapping her head back up and snorting as she glared at Draco. "You can't share a book without violating _one_ boundary or another. Always a Malfoy."

Draco simply looked at her strangely before raising an eyebrow, then shaking off the entire thought completely. 

"Look, Granger-"

"No, _you_ look, Malfoy," Hermione snapped back before opening a large compartment of her book bag and emptying out its contents on the floor. All of Draco's books fell out, knocking into each other as they landed. Snapping the sling back on her bag, Hermione left without another word but a slam of the Divination classroom door.

Draco stared at the door for a moment, calculating the time it took for Hermione to make a complete one-eighty from a calm, cool, uncaring individual to a complete female psycho. 

Then he shrugged and began picking up the books that were still rightfully his from the floor in thought.

Hermione's departure left him with more than just an impression to mull over. It wasn't so much her moody bitchiness that caught his attention but her reaction to him reading her notes, and most importantly, the notes themselves.

Draco only caught a bit of it, a small look leading him to believe that Hermione was researching something on the Imperius. The Imperius likely placed on Potter. The only problem with that, was it was unlikely.

A complete investigation had been performed on the entire Gryffindor tower for weeks after Potter's death, and all signs pointed to the Whiz Kid's suicide. If there had been a sign of a struggle, Draco figured suspicions would arise beyond the standard label of taking one's life.

Brow still furrowed over the prospect of Hermione's research, Draco simply shrugged and opened the door to the Divinations class himself, books and parchment in-hand. 

At least his mention of Potter's death didn't earn him a potential de-balling from Hermione as he expected.

Testicles in place, Draco left the class deep in thought.

___

If you didn't catch on, let me spell out that Harry is _thought_ to be dead by suicide but Hermione thinks someone killed him.

And I love you all. Because I'm feeling feverish, I might as well profess my love to strangers I don't know, cannot see, and will never meet.

...

Huh.

Kay.


	3. Imprimis Gradarius

Chapter 3

-

Her hair lied still upon her shoulders as she relaxed her body slowly and concentrated on keeping her eyes closed. Hermione took slow breaths in and out while trying to clear her mind of all thought. 

The past few days had been overwhelming to an incomprehensible extent. Researching Harry's case, above all, had been stressful due to the extreme lack of results she kept getting whenever she tried to find a de-tracing spell counter curse. Not to mention both McGonagall and Flitwick had been on her back about her missing assignments and lack of attention in class. Trying to shed light on the fact that their boring lectures might have something to do with it didn't help her case one bit. 

Hermione's muscles compressed, then relaxed and she straightened her back and exhaled slowly, letting out all the worries that'd be relentlessly plaguing her mind for the past 72 hours. _Let it all out._

Hermione also hoped that this technique of meditating would help her somehow remember a piece of Harry's puzzle that her frazzled mind might have overlooked during sleepless nights before.

Muscles relaxed, Hermione waited.

A pounding on her door broke her thought.

"Hermione!" Parvarti's voice rang clearly through the wooden barrier, as the brunette's eyes snapped open in irritation. "Hermione, I know you're in there. I need to use your badge to get into the Prefect bathroom. Let me borrow it?"

Letting her cross-legged position dissolve into outstretched legs, she fell back against her bed.

"Go. Away."

"Hermione, _please_?" Parvarti whined. "I'd ask Ginny but she's already left for Hogsmeade. And it's not like you _use_ it or anything… _Please_?"

Seeing that she wasn't going to get any peace staying cooped up in her room, Hermione rolled her eyes and lifted herself from her bed. 

Uncaring of what she grabbed from her nightstand, Hermione snatched a dark brown bottle of nail lacquer and dropped it to the grassy grounds of Hogwarts from her open window. Muttering an incantation quickly, she didn't wait to see the spell take effect before grabbing her notebook full of notes and lifting herself onto the windowsill. She knew that when she stuck her foot out that window, there'd be a substantially long ladder waiting to support her weight.

Climbing all the way down, Hermione got rid of obvious evidence, placing the nail polish inside her robe pocket, and padded to a tree by the lake. She stooped, leaned on her arm, then collapsed on her ass. Pushing her notebook aside, Hermione lied back on the ground beneath the shade and took in a deep breath of fresh, soothing air. Maybe this would clear her mind.

Relaxing her muscles once more, Hermione tried desperately to convince herself that it was just a matter of time before it all came together. Perhaps she could visit Hagrid later on. He was old and wise, after all, and probably knew about all kinds of things he didn't let onto. 

" 'Vein of eucalyptus, juice of pomegranate, and… _blank_ are speculated ingredients of the _counter_ curse for the oldest recorded de-tracing spell and potion combination,'" read off Draco with amusement before tilting his head down towards the face of the now-alert Hermione. "You still at this, Granger?"

Getting up in lighting speed, Hermione scrambled to snatch her notebook out of Draco's hands, with him providing no resistance in trying to keep it.

"What is it with you and going through my shit?" she asked angrily through gritted teeth, eyes flashing dangerously as she self-consciously brushed off her bottom from grass stains. Draco laughed at the out-of-place action in her angry tirade. This only egged her on. "And—and what _is_ it with the showing up wherever I am all of a sudden? What are we—some kind of _friends_ now?"

"Blimey," Draco muttered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes over Hermione's pointless hysterics. "_Down_, kitty. I was sent here on a mission, if you must know," he attempted, trying to spark her interest.

Hermione's eyes read otherwise. Her urge to hex him into a stampede of very wild, poorly trained, _Muggle_ animals was the only thing sparked.

Draco grinned at her stubbornness.

"Prefect's meeting, Granger. You haven't attended the last… six, I believe, and the professors are getting a little…" Draco rubbed his hands together and looked up to the sky in thought while Hermione watched him with expired interest, "…angry as hell? That the right phrase?"

Hermione spread her arms in defeat, looking at him with disinterested eyes.

"Who _gives_ a bloody shit?" she asked rhetorically. Draco inhaled sharply, knowing this very well may be a beginning to a lengthy, dramatic speech. "I figured they'd drop the get-Hermione-involved campaign when I stopped buying school supplies after the initial batch ran out." 

Draco ran an irritated hand through his hair. He did _not_ have the time for Hermione's PMS: Every Hour on the Hour demonstration while he still had his youth and good looks.

"Surprisingly," Draco uttered, faking shock, "this isn't the get-_anyone_-involved campaign. _You_ applied for the position of Prefect, pet, and it's your duty to pay some kind of time to the cause." He paused. "Merlin knows I do _entirely_ too much for this thankless pile of Hogwarts bricks."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blond dictating directions to her, running a hand through her own hair as a nervous tactic.

"And why'd they send _you_ to get me?" she asked irritably as her legs finally decided to move toward the castle. "Wasn't there anyone else _less_ skilled in the asshole department that was up for the job?"

Draco was soon in-stride with Hermione, entering the castle through a pair of wooden double doors. 

"Evidently, no one—in _any_ House—was up for the job, all mumbling something about never approaching the crazy psycho bitch without a wand and professor ever again," Draco recounted with amusement, loving the way Hermione's cheeks heated up at the newly-acquired information.

"Fucking pansies, all of them," Hermione mumbled bitterly, as she sped up down the halls to the meeting, leaving Draco trailing behind at a leisurely pace.

He grinned.

"_Finally_, you see it _my_ way, kitty."

- - - - - - -

- - - - - - -

Hermione pushed open the door loudly, allowing it to bang the wall beside it before slowly reeling back into place. Every head in the room turned to Hermione, all five currently present, plus the two professors leading the meeting.

Steadily, she walked over to an empty chair around the nearly-full table and plopped down on it. Immediately, she pulled her legs up, her knees resting against the table's edge.

Aware that the heads were still observing her, pretending to be nonchalant as ever, Hermione resisted the urge to flip all of them off, given the new information she received of them being afraid of her. The only thing holding her back was Severus Snape's steely glare leveled at the back of her neck, his body ready to rise momentarily out of his chair to shout in a booming voice that she had detention for eternity and then some. 

Compared to Snape's hostility, Flitwick's tense demeanor didn't even occur to Hermione as strange.

"Back to the issue of—"

Draco's belated entrance caused another head-turning motion, Hermione unable to believe that every single person in that room was incapable of ignoring the door whenever someone came in.

The blond, unsurprisingly, seemed to adore the attention, wearing on his face a glorious smirk he fashioned specially for moderate-sized crowds. Slowly, he plopped into the only other open seat—next to Hermione.

"Now that everyone who will _ever_ need to be here is in attendance," Flitwick began with a strained bout of annoyance, "I'd prefer to get back to the issue at hand. I'm sure most of you have heard about Harold Spinstern's critical condition after that unfortunate brawl Thursday evening…"

Hermione took Flitwick's steady, get-ready-to-hear-an-encouraging-speech tone as a cue to take out a half sheet of ripped parchment from her notebook and let it rest on the cover as some sort of hard surface. Continuing her previous design on the page, she left herself drift from the professor's concerned words to a world where just she, her pictures, and her charcoal existed. 

Aside from some essential meditating techniques, sketching was one of the few activities that kept Hermione sane. When she was in a situation she couldn't handle, when everything got too overwhelming and she felt like uttering _Avada Kedavra_ with her wand aimed at the entire world, her parchment and strokes of charcoal calmed her nerves. It helped keep her grounded while she focused on the important things. While she focused on Harry's death.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione's eyes lazily left her paper in effort to look like she cared when addressed by her teachers.

"Yes?" she responded solemnly. Flitwick's eyes flashed irritably.

"Have you been paying any mind to my announcement?" he asked dangerously close to snapping with impatience. Hermione shrugged, looking up at the ceiling as if assessing her answer carefully.

"I can't say I've paid any mind to _anything_ you've said for the most part of the year, Professor," Hermione answered calmly; truthfully. She quickly determined that her current conversation partner did not appreciate her blunt tactlessness. "But that's just me… paying some honesty."

Flitwick looked to Snape, in the corner of the room, for assistance. For some reason, turning to the Slytherin Head of House to deal with his hardly favorite Gryffindor seemed more appropriate than to take action himself at this particular moment.

Snape seemed bored to tears with the occurrence. Though he still watched Hermione like a hawk, this wasn't the sort of slip-up he'd hoped to catch her with. Oh, to hell with waiting; this opportunity would do.

"Well," Snape said, attempting to masquerade his bored tone with an interested one, as he sat up from his previously reclined position, "it seems as though we've reached a stalemate, Professor. You have requested Miss Granger's opinion of how to improve House unity and Miss Granger, neglecting to realize her Prefect duties, failed to provide a valid suggestion." He looked at the somber-looking Hermione coldly. "Perhaps the position of Prefect is too much of a burden for you, Miss Granger. Perhaps it should be revoked to lessen the workload for you, in turn giving a most… _interested_ candidate an opportunity to be involved with the student body." Hermione's stance tensed as she Draco's eyebrow raise in interest at her side. "Hm?"

The room stilled with firm silence.

Only taking a moment to regard her decision with any real thought, Hermione tucked her drawing supplies into her notebook, and push off the table with her knees, creating a loud scraping sound with her chair.

"Sounds good to me," she remarked coolly as she stood and caught Snape's eye, refusing to surrender any sort of vulnerable feeling with her gaze. Her glance clearly said, 'You didn't even skim the surface, you old fool.' Advancing toward the door, Hermione heard some shuffling and what sounded like Flitwick getting ready to talk to the group once more. Abruptly, she turned around, with her hand on the doorknob.

"About that House unity thing," she said, choosing her words carefully, eyes first on Professor Flitwick, her classmates, then eventually Draco, "no amount of suggestion will help it. The whole school will be bound their respective color and name until someone changes the minds of those who want to be separated." Pausing Hermione lifted an eyebrow at Draco's amused look. "In a sea of five thousand united, the five that disagree will separate the rest."

The door slamming was the next audible sound to grace the classroom, with the exception of Snape's unrestricted snores in his corner of the room.

- - - - - - -

- - - - - - -

"Granger!" a voice tugged at Hermione's responsive tactic to turn around as she walked leisurely down the hall, kicking her feet at the stone floor once in a while. 

Shortly after her exit from the meeting, her mind began plaguing her with the inquiry of how smart it was to lose the title of Prefect so close to matriculation. At least the credit would have helped her in getting some sort of career, or job to support her after Hogwarts. She really didn't think her lack of work this year would help get any into any sort of university, and she knew her parents didn't have the money to fully support her tuition. That left her with the option of finding.

Luckily, her entire Hogwarts career, weighed as a whole, proved Hermione to be a hard, worthy worker, capable of nearly any job, save sports-related areas. Her Seventh Year still stuck out like a sore thumb, though. Her laziness, her lack of care for her schoolwork, and generally doing nothing academically. And the loss of her Perfect position this late in the year would still read as though she never had the position at all.

Part of having a privileged position at Hogwarts: you were expected to keep it.

"Hermione!" 

The girl in question glanced behind her, momentarily snapped out of her thoughts. Seeing who it was, she rolled her eyes and brought her gaze back forward.

"They send you to get me again?" she asked in monotone. "Because I highly doubt it."

"As do I," Draco agreed. Masking his inevitably interested look at the object within his grasp, he stretched out his hand toward her. "You dropped your drawing."

Hermione's eyes looked down to the picture of a hooded eye beneath thick eyelashes, reflecting the scenery of stormy mountains and valleys. When she looked up, Draco was gone.

- - - - - - -

- - - - - - -

"Shouldn't someone like you be in class right now?" Hagrid asked skeptically as Hermione took it upon herself to boil a kettle of water. "Getting educated for the real world and all that malarkey?"

Hermione shrugged, turning the stove dial up to the strongest flame.

"Someone like me, yes," she agreed, sitting down across from him, well aware of his cautious attitude toward her. "Me? I'm right where I want to be. I need to talk to you, Hagrid, and you're the only person right now that I _know_ I could trust to keep this sort of… request quiet."

Hagrid looked at one of his most prized pupils uneasily, trying to figure out what—as a responsible adult—he should do in a situation like this. He was well aware of Hermione's denial and refusal to move on from her best friend's death. And Hagrid understood her grief. He, more than most people, he'd wager, loved Harry as a son and understood the immense pain that came with the news that Harry had killed himself. 

But as much as it caused him pain to admit, Harry was gone. That was something Hermione had yet to accept. Hence, the brunette's visit, undoubtedly related to Harry's death.

"Hagrid?" Hermione called him out of his thoughts, accentuated by the whistling of the kettle. Diluting the chopped, dry tea leaves with hot water, Hermione brought two cups with her on the way back to the table. 

"I'm not sure how much help I can offer, Hermione," Hagrid said carefully, squinting as he sipped his hot tea. The girl across from him simply enveloped her mug with her hands and shook her head for him not to continue.

"I think I'm correct when I say you know I'm here about Harry," she said bluntly, unflinching and expressionless. Down to business. 

Hagrid sighed and put his teacup down.

"Quite what I thought," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face, "but I don't know if I can help you with what you might ask; might _request_—"

"Hagrid," Hermione said firmly, abandoning her teacup as well, "I've waited for you to return from France for a two days shy of a week now. You might have some idea of how much my… cause means to me. Please?"

Hermione's tone had softened, melting from its firm and icy exterior to a vulnerable, almost scared voice. Hagrid heaved a deep sigh.

"Fire away," he said with a small grin, taking another sip of the tea that burned his tongue.

Hermione nearly smiled as she leaned forward.

"I was just wondering…" she started slowly, eyes boring into giant's, "exactly _how_ buried and forgotten is _Conquiesco Vestigium_?"

- - - - - - -

- - - - - - -

And finally chapter three is up! Hope you all enjoyed because I really did. I'm really excited about what's going to happen with this story. You kids aren't even close, if you any speculation about what Hermione's deal is, where Draco ties in, and exactly how Harry died. You're in for a sweet ride.

For now, tell me what you think of the set-up chapters. These clearly make up the base from which the plot springs. Hermione just set the plot off to unravel. How? Well, you're going to have wait for the next chapter, won't you?

Have fun guessing what the title means.

Muahahaha.

Inappropriately loving you all,

Beach.


	4. Pass Boy

Chapter Four

-

-

Hagrid's eyebrows furrowed in a thoughtful frown as he regarded the girl in front of him with intense suspicion.

"A de-tracing spell?" he asked slowly, rubbing his beard as he thought of how to answer her. He didn't want to break her hope, but he didn't want to interfere with school rules and practical law and all that crap. He was an honorable man. He sighed, licking his lips. But he was also a truthful one. "You do know that spell's not exactly… kosher to use on Hogwarts grounds? You sure you know what you're asking about?"

Hermione restrained herself from rolling her eyes as she sat back in the kitchen chair with defeat.

"You don't have to worry about me using it, Hagrid," Hermione promised somewhat deceitfully. "I just need to know about it; find a text that includes information on it. Anything you might have access to. Please?" Hagrid's extremely skeptical expression didn't leave his face. "Come on, Hagrid," she coaxed slowly, "…_please_?"

Sighing deeply, Hagrid stood up and collected both of their teacups to deposit in the sink, not asking whether Hermione was done with her tea or not.

"Dumbledore would be very upset with me if he knew I gave you any sort of hint in finding information for a de-tracing spell, Hermione. It's not exactly unclear as to why you want to know about it," he said finally after he washed each cup thoroughly. He glanced back at her. "Have you looked in the library?"

"Hagrid," Hermione said with a firm expression, "you and I both know how rare it is for anyone to have any text on a de-tracing spell to date. That kind of information disappeared into the hands of very few a long time ago. No public or school library anywhere would carry it." Hermione dropped her gaze to the floor, feeling the defeat and unsuccessful outcome of her meeting with the friendly giant settle on her shoulders and heart. "It's why I came to speak with you. I thought you could help me."

Hagrid sent an uncomfortable look toward Hermione. Why did he always end up in these positions? Helping students bend and break the rules? Why did he have to know so much, damn it. Why was he such a _softy_, damn it.

"Have you talked to Dumbledore?" he asked with one last hope of escaping giving an answer. "You know he'd help you in a heartbeat, and it's nearly a given that he'd know all I'd know. More than that, even. "

"No," Hermione answered automatically, "he wouldn't. It's why I didn't approach him. You think he'd help me break the rules for my own benefit, for my own needs? He wouldn't give me special treatment, you know that, Hagrid. He wouldn't even give Harry flat-out special treatment half the time. He's a nice man, but he likes the rules because, well, _he_ made them." Hermione's eyes got wide with despair. "I just-I knew you'd help Harry if he had this problem. I thought maybe…" she looked down, "…you'd help me, too."

The tall giant suddenly felt tired and swept with built-up emotion. There was that damn softy thing.

"I can't help you with this, Hermione," he finally said, the thoughts of turning her down finally voiced in the air. "I know you're having a hard time dealing with the events of this year. Heck-we all shut down for a while; researched; did all we could to try to find a way to bring him back." Hagrid moved his chair closer to Hermione's as he sat down, lacing his thick fingers together and resting his elbows gruffly on his knees. "But you can't bring him back, Hermione."

Something flashed in her eyes as Hermione bit her tongue to keep from lashing out.

"I know that," she said in a strained voice.

Hagrid studied her for a moment before raising his eyebrows and rubbing his beard once again.

_I don't think you do know that._

But a decision was made.

He stood up, his heavy boots bending the wooden floorboards of his cabin as he moved determinedly toward his bedroom, disappearing from the only visible clearing the open door allowed. After a few minutes of shuffling around, Hagrid returned with seemingly nothing new or gained in his grasp.

"What…" Hermione started, but Hagrid's determined look cut her off.

Unclenching his fist, he let a small, ripped piece of parchment be shown as he held it out to her on his palm.

"You were wrong," he began, starting with a phrase that was the first aggressive thing he said directly to Hermione to date, "about the school library not having this spell. It's in the archives, but you wouldn't have been able to find it yourself; even in the Restricted Section. Go to--Well, the directions are all there and you'll have to say a specific spell to unlock the bindings that contain all of the valued texts; _Alohamora _won't do." Hagrid took a deep breath and looked around conspiratorially, as if suspecting spies in his very own home. "After you get the book, you have a maximum of two hours to copy down all the information you need about the spell before a charm is triggered, signaling the text missing. I strongly suggest, Hermione, that the charm is not triggered when you have that book." His grave look told her she most likely wouldn't want that either. "When you're done, bring the directions back to me, and I hope not to find you in a compromising position, wreaking havoc about the school and casting de-tracers. Are we clear?"

Hermione had never seen Hagrid so grave and serious before. He was never a lecturing guy, never one to worry too much. But then again, he had never revealed something so volatile to the three of them, even long ago.

She nodded, eyes confirming her promise, this time wishing she would genuinely mean it.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Hermione finally said, displaying the first smile she'd worn in weeks. It wasn't a smile from happiness… but it was close enough. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

Hagrid's serious and stern expression faltered as he saw the hope and optimism swell in his former pupil's eyes.

"Don't mention it," he said somewhat lightly, though somewhat meaning it literally.

Watching her place the piece of paper carefully into her robe pocket on the way to the door, Hagrid pressed his lips together in thought.

He knew it wasn't the smartest thing to give a mere student Hogwarts archive information, but he was one of the few

"Hermione?" he called out, waiting for her to turn around with her hand on the knob, flashing him a hopeful, don't-retract-your-information-please smile. "Be good about this." He caught her eye in a stern glance. "And don't get my hide in trouble."

- - - - - - -

- - - - - - -

The dark enveloped the library, making it seem larger and quieter than Hermione ever remembered seeing it. Reputably, she had spent ages in this library, but never this late and never with criminal intentions.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione approached the librarian's office and hesitated. She found herself staring at the doorknob as if it were a variation of the Rubik's Cube. Hermione didn't remember Hagrid saying anything about the office needing a special charm to be opened, but could it be that simple to get in there?

Whispering an _Alohamora_, she heard a welcoming click as the door unlatched.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione condemned Hogwarts' security--or lack thereof--while thanking her lucky stars at the same time.

One would think that the most powerful magic school in all the land yadda yadda would guard their texts containing nearly lost information and three-headed dogs, for that matter, with more than just elementary unlocking spells.

The young witch stuck her head inside the office. Oh well. Better for the young, on-the-go delinquent.

Just as she was about to step in, Hermione heard a faint noise behind her.

Looking over her left shoulder cautiously, she saw only the inanimate.

"What are we doing?"

"Holy--" Hermione pulled back with a start, thinking she was caught, a hand instinctively over her fast-beating heart. Draco Malfoy's amused face met her enraged look as soon as she recognized his voice, promptly pushing open the office door angrily with her foot. "Stupid asshole, inconsiderate pain in my goddamn--"

"What was that?" he asked, his voice only slightly quieter than usual, as he followed the girl easily. "I scared poor Granger to death?"

Hermione's cross gaze veered over her shoulder.

"Trust me, if I was near death, you'd be right there with me."

Draco faked happiness as he placed a hand over his heart.

"Would you look at that. We're making friends already."

The brunette in the room lit the tip of her wand and ran the light across the cluttered counters of Pince's claustrophobic office.

"In that case, _friend_," she bit out, "mind telling me why you show up everywhere I go lately? Or is stalking just Slytherin's new trend for this month?"

Draco's brows furrowed in disbelief and he took a brief pause to look at the girl in front of him incredulously, even though her back was to him.

"Even the deranged have standards, Granger," he explained slowly, as if teaching.

"You speak from previous criminal experience?" Hermione's muffled voice sailed from beneath Pince's desk.

Draco snorted as he leaned against the doorframe.

"And you would know nothing about crime of any sort with the secret agent spy mission you've got going here."

"Shutting up would be nice," Hermione ground out, opening drawers now.

"What the hell are you doing anyway, raiding Pince's office?" he continued as though he hadn't heard her. "Not exactly the goldmine location for money, books, or illegal substances--a pity as it may be."

"You'd be surprised," Hermione muttered under her breath, scanning the contents of the small office for a locked cabinet she hadn't checked yet.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"What was that?"

"I said, 'Why won't you die?'" she replied irritably, waving around her wand in Draco's direction.

"A few words with those flicks and the job would be done, oh brave Gryffindor," he challenged with a smirk, folding his arms and stepping forward.

Hermione paused her search to roll her eyes.

"Please. As if I'd kill you to risk them tracing your pathetic death back to my wand." She opened a file drawer in the corner of the room, rummaging among the parchment inside. "Now poison--there's a different story…"

Realization struck Draco fast and hard as he watched the Gryffindor before him turn Pince's office upside down in haste.

"Ooh," he said, nodding his head, as if he should've known all along.

"Ooh?"

"Uh huh."

"Ooh what? Wait, scratch that. I don't care," Hermione concluded, frustrated, running a hand through her hair and looking around the office helplessly. "What are you doing in the library at midnight anyway—if not stalking?"

"Hey, I could be stalking for all anyone cares," Draco replied, holding up a pass. "I'm actually allowed to be here. Thought I'd get some extra studying done when people _aren't_ trying to steal books I need then dump them at my feet the next day."

"You're right, that is injustice," Hermione said, opening useless drawers for the second time. "I should've dumped them somewhere that counted."

Draco bit the tip of his tongue, then chuckled.

"Ouch, that hurts, Granger."

"Not now, but it would've," she promised as something on the floor caught her eye. Scrambling to pull a piece of parchment out of her pocket as she squatted, Hermione read the contents before aiming her wand at the spot beneath Draco's feet.

"You want to move, please?" she asked with disgust, already miffed that she'd spent valuable time searching where the big annoying thing _wasn't_ standing, and her loot turned out to be beneath him the whole time.

"You're begging me for something on your knees. Now _here's_ the Granger I've been trying to reach underneath all that PMS and hostility."

Hermione's smoldering glare did convince him to move a few steps back, though.

"Give me a few hours of sleep, peace of mind about my _spy mission_ and you'll get your fuck-you's, leave-me-alone's and castration threats back in no time," she promised solemnly before whispering some sort of tongue-twisting incantation and grinning in triumph as it worked.

Draco watched her unlatch the trap door and hesitate before carefully reaching in to pick up a large, stone-and-dust-encrusted book.

"And you'll get peace of mind about this mission after you…" Draco paused pretending to speculate, "…copy down the de-tracing spell and antidote from that big ancient book?"

The trap door clattered closed as Hermione's terrified expression met his, her hand hugging the book close to her chest.

"H-How did you—"

"Wild guess."

Hermione recoiled, stepping back a few paces as though this would give her room to think. Malfoy must've figured out her reason for this book somehow; not like he was a stranger to her research topics anymore. Now her biggest question nagging at the back of her mind was, what was he going to do about it? Hermione glances at the book worriedly. And would he do this under two hours?

"You can stop plotting defense tactics now. I'm not going to hold this over your life," Draco reassured, his brow suddenly furrowing. _Oh dear Merlin. I'm going soft. What the hell has aging done to me?_

Hermione's eyebrow raised in annoyance as she watched Draco mull over his sudden troubling thoughts, his hand feeling around on his head. She snorted, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as his gaze refocused on her.

"Are y—are you looking for a _bald_ spot?"

Draco looked horrified. Had she spotted one? But her cruel laughter indicated that wasn't why she was laughing.

"Of course not."

"Then what are you doing or are _going_ to do?" she asked bitterly. "I don't think your lack of plans for tonight compensates for interfering with mine."

Draco glanced at Hermione incredulously.

"As guilty as I feel for ruining your date with a book," he assured, "I wouldn't go about insulting someone with the power to deport your precious date back to its cozy home in the ground."

Hermione shook her head in disgust.

"You're going to tell on me?"

"Since I can't kill you," he replied wistfully.

"Fucker."

Draco twirled his wand in his fingers.

"What was that?"

Hermione sighed in defeat, but not before treating Draco to a welcoming hand gesture.

"What do you want?" Her voice sounded resigned and open for suggestions. So long as she could have that book.

"I want in," he said simply, rolling his eyes at her questioning glance. "I want to help you with your whole murder research…thing."

Hermione stayed silent for a moment, rooted to her spot, trying to process what the Slytherin in front of her had just rambled about.

"You can't be serious," was her retort before she saw Draco recharge for another blackmail speech. "That's—it's—no. No chance. And, for that matter, why would you even _want_ to be involved? Isn't it enough for you to taunt Harry's death? Now you want in-depth coverage for your fucking jokes? What the hell do you—"

"I suggest you quiet down your bitch fit just a tad if you don't want Filch to catch us," Draco suggested, effectively shutting her up for a moment, giving him his window of opportunity to talk. "And I've got plenty of material for any joke I would ever want to make on the topic of my choice—all up here," he motioned to his head. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust. "But this interests me. I didn't exactly fancy Potter," he remarked, observing Hermione's rage ready to explode if he made any snide comment there, "but I don't think those bunch of sniveling imbeciles at the Ministry knew what the bloody hell hit them when investigated his death. And if I could help solve the case, then—"

"Then you could get half the glory," Hermione finished, face twisted into a revolted expression. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Draco shrugged a shoulder, deciding not to correct the woman on her assumption. He didn't want to venture into the messy gray area that told him maybe he wasn't asking to solve the case because of the credit. Maybe he was really interested in what happened to the Golden Boy and disgusted with the sloppy, unjust investigation the Ministry slapped on his case. Maybe more.

"What else does the Malfoy name stand for, now that Voldermort's six feet under?"

Hermione slowly regained some semblance of a grip on her emotions, and stepped out from Madame Pince's unlit, overturned office. She made a mental note to go back and tidy it up a bit when she returned the book.

Promising herself that this was for the good of Harry's investigation, she resigned herself to accepting that she'd have to work with Malfoy. For the good of Harry. For the good of Harry. She also convinced herself that it was a good idea to chant a reminder of why she was agreeing to work with fucking Malfoy.

"…Good of Harry, for the _good_ of Harry," she mumbled under her breath as she pushed back from the office door and sauntered toward a perplexed Draco. Raising her eyebrows, she shoved the heavy book that was nestled in her embrace at Draco's unsuspecting arms. "Well?"

"Well what?" he asked dumbly, unsure of what the moody girl in front of him wanted him to do with the book.

"Get your privileged arse inside the library, Mr. I'm-Allowed-To-Be-Here," she commanded, placing her hands on her hips decisively. "We've got two hours."

- - - - - - -

- - - - - - -

Author's Note:

I know, I know. Just when you thought you'd never hear from me again because I moved to some snowy, isolated country in the middle of nowhere where electricity is considered a sin brewed straight out of hell, I just pop back out of the frosty oblivion.

If there is _anyone_ still reading this, you guys are really, truly amazing. What _tolerance_ you must have. What _attention_ spans you must have.

Awesome.

Love you guys.

Beach.


	5. Do It, Do It

Chapter 5

"There's something to be said about magic, Granger," Draco grumbled, copying down ingredients and directions on the parchment before him with distaste. "It's called making menial tasks easier." He looked up. "Go with me on this."

Hermione rolled her eyes and raised her head from its resting position on her outstretched arm.

"We've been over this, Malfoy," she replied, saying 'Malfoy' in a way that suggested she would have rather substituted in another word, "all restricted, _special_ books are plagiarist-proof. You make a copy of any page, and the book'll develop a goddamn monologue, telling Pince exactly who copied from it."

Draco sighed in annoyance, hastily admitting to himself that maybe she was just a little right.

"Well, why am I the one doing all the copying? With all those notes you're famous for taking in class, this is right up your alley. I'm more useful with strategizing anyway."

Hermione quirked her eyebrow as Draco pushed the open book toward her in resignation.

"I'm not certain you're useful for anything in this case, but since you literally blackmailed me into giving you something to do, you're going to copy down the ingredients like a good boy. _Arsehole_."

Draco's nostrils flared.

"I think I missed the part about this arrangement which entails you bossing me about, since _I'm_ the one with all the power. _Bitch_." Inwardly, he winced at the words that were out of his mouth before he could do anything about them—like screen them, or something. Just that sentence alone reminded him of someone he had no interest in sounding like, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You're right. You're so goddamn fucking right. Why would _I_ know _anything_ about telling you what do with my project, when you're fucking _blackmailing_ me into including you?" Her voice was a high-pitched shrill that Draco's eardrums didn't seem to fancy at this point.

"Will you keep your voice down? Hot damn, that banshee screech is _not_ going to repel Filch and his cat," Draco warned irritably, ironically raising his voice, "despite the temptation to run away from it."

Her eyes flaming to the point of no return, Hermione's hand gripped the edge of the table at which they were seated and bit her tongue so hard that she felt like she exceedingly close to piercing the flesh. Exhaling slowly, Hermione looked at the boy sitting across from her and wondered how she ever got herself into the position of being in constant communication with him. The arrangement they had was ridiculous—and she knew that he must have known it too.

Chuckling, Hermione closed her eyes briefly.

 "You… you must have known this would happen," she said cynically, motioning with her hand between them. "We can't be left alone in the same room together."

Draco grinned at the absurdity of the situation as well, the tension melting off his demeanor as he leaned back in his chair.

"That all depends on the room. I have reason to believe we'd provide marvelous entertainment within a battle dome or wrestling rink."

Hermione glanced back at him, the smallest of smirks on her face.

"In pudding."

Her smile dropped.

"Being a pig is really like your calling, isn't it?"

Draco shrugged, totally serious.

"That—or being a florist. I haven't yet decided."

Hermione clenched her fists once more before raking her hands through her brown curls.

"There isn't a word for how much I can't stand you," came her whine, complete with a pout, before she waved her hand dismissively at him, "and I can't even plot your murder in peace since you're sitting right _there_."

Despite the intended pun, Hermione's eyes suddenly hardened as she realized what she'd just said, reminding her of the task at hand, while Draco merely raised an eyebrow at her. Deciding to steer away from the cat-clawing subject that could possibly be the reason for his… theft of family jewels one day, he flipped the cover of the heavy volume in front of him shut.

"And on that happy note," he scribbled his last word and put a period at the end, raising his quill dramatically, "I'm through."

The girl in front of him mechanically picked up the book, carried it back into Pince's office and dropped it into the trap door hideaway.

"And on a happier note," he heard her muffled voice from the office as she kicked closed the latch of the door, the protective charms reforming around the cherished boundary, "I'm through as well." Stepping out of the office as she shut the door behind her, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and moved to collect the parchment on which Draco copied the ingredients of the potion. "Through with that book, with this blasted office, through with you. I can just go… and finally get some sleep."

Draco's brows furrowed as he swiped the parchments from the table before she could reach them and held them above his head.

"Hold on a tick," he began, waving the spell ingredients in front of her tauntingly, yet making it very clear that his height will benefit him in keeping them out of reach. "Would you—would you just _sit_ the bloody hell down, woman? Getting a sodding thought out would be a lot easier if you weren't hopping around me like a deranged monkey."

Stopping her pursuit for the information, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blond.

"I don't think _I'm_ the only thing in the way of you getting your thoughts out," she fumed. "The fact that you _have_ no coherent ones might also present _quite_ a problem."

"Thank you," Draco continued pompously, as though she hadn't said anything; merely stopped jumping. "I realize that having the potion ingredients is all well and good, but what are we going to do about the situation meanwhile? I mean, six weeks is quite a long time to be left ineffectual in the process while we—"

"What—what are you _talking_ about? Six weeks. What the snot is your damage?"

Draco blinked.

"The potion," he motioned, unfolding the parchment. "There's no way we can brew it right away. I mean, look at the ingredients."

He watched the wheels turn in Hermione's head as she scanned the list. Her shoulders rose and fell.

"So? We have most of this stuff in the greenhouses and I could make in less than…" she trailed off as she evidently spotted the problem. "Antlers."

"A _moose's_ antlers, to be exact. The bone marrow from a set of moose's antlers is required in the potion _at_ the time of brewing or the previous ingredients will overcook and evaporate—understandably, since it _will_ be a six-week wait—and therefore render our efforts of pilfering the remainder of the ingredients useless, as they would be ineffective at the needed time."

Hermione just stared at him for minutes, thoughts of the antlers lost on her.

"Did a bunch of phrases mix in your mind and that's what you regurgitated?"

Rolling his eyes, her conversation partner huffed in annoyance at straying from the topic.

"Actually, it's simply intelligent conversation. I presume that's quite a stretch from your new 'fuck that, bitch, and leave me the hell alone' catchphrases, but I suppose you're just going to have to live with it, won't you?"

"Ugh. I do _not_ only say—" Catching herself, the brunette Gryffindor puckered her lips and looked away, exhaling through her nose. When she looked back to the irritated Draco, her lips were wearing a knowing smirk. "We're doing it again."

"It's the only _it_ we do."

"We need to stop and concentrate on the work."

Draco nodded in response and pointed at the parchment, "Moose antlers."

"Right. So tell me, Snape Junior, why is this potion doomed to brew for six weeks?"

"It's not going to—Is that Snape thing an insult?" he stopped mid-sentence, forehead scrunched up. "He's a very talented professor and an esteemed Potions Master; that's not an insult." Hermione simply grinned condescendingly and nodded at him, in a 'Yes, of course' kind of way. "It's _not._ Except the hair—The hair's _definitely_ better over here," he declared, pointing at his blond skull.

Hermione closed her eyes, quelling her annoyance and raised her eyebrows at him a moment later for him to continue the parts not about Snape.

"Right. The potion won't take six weeks to brew. We have to brew it _in_ six weeks."

She stared at him.

"Very different."

Draco looked at her like she was crazy.

"_Yeah_."

"Right. Well why do we have to wait that long? And where are we going to get moose antlers?"

Draco grinned uncharacteristically.

"Both correlated, lioness." Hermione frowned at one of the words. "Moose are populous, more commonly, in Canada. It was the first thought that came to my mind. Coincidentally, I have an ex-fiancé there who I'm still on good terms with and can count on her giving me said antlers that we need. Unfortunately," he continued, ignoring Hermione's weakly-shielded surprise at the 'ex-fiancé' part, "the reason moose are so prosperous there and are protected from Muggle hunters by the government is because of those valuable antlers. They are very useful and prized in the production of Muggle medicine, therefore cut from the moose and awaited until they re-grow, at which point they are cut again. Quite productive, frankly speaking."

Hermione's first show of outward emotion was projected on her face as it took on a sympathetic and concerned expression.

"That's so cruel. How painful it must be for all those moose to have their _antlers_ cut off. That's a _part_ of them."

Draco shrugged, raising an eyebrow.

"No more painful than us cutting our finger or toenails. _That's_ a _part_ of us."

Hermione bit the corner of her lip and chewed on it for a moment before motioning with her palms for him to continue, void of any comment. Anything she said would've blatantly proved that she was in the dark about something and she and Draco both knew—albeit separately—that she'd never unnecessarily admit she was wrong.

"As I was saying, antlers are very precious to the government due to their scientific value, and one can't attain them simply. The connections I have there are fairly minimal and mean, quite literally, shit to the government officials. It will take my ex-fiancé five to six weeks to owl the antlers to us." Draco drummed his fingers on the gleaming tabletop. "At least that's how long it took last time."

Hermione rubbed the back of her neck.

"Last time?"

Her partner in crime let a small smirk conquer his features, palpably pleased at being the knowledgeable party in the conversation.

"Just as the antlers are valued in Muggle science, they are quite valuable for Potions as well. Mostly for forbidden, uncommon potions, such _as_…" Draco pointedly motioned to the parchment of ingredients in front of them, "and some medical ones as well. I made a few potions requiring moose antlers." Hermione glanced at him in an unintentional, accusatory way, probably focusing on the 'forbidden potions' part. "Once or twice."

Nodding, Hermione's eyebrows quirked in genuine fascination.

"So you researched all about Canadian moose for a potion you did _once or twice_?"

Draco smirked and shook his head condescendingly.

"Actually, if you paid even the smallest amount of attention in Potions lately, you'd know just as much about Canadian moose as I do."

"Well, Merlin's underpants, I really missed the goldmine." Hermione knew she was lying, and with the nearly spotless track record of guessing what she was thinking, she didn't doubt Draco knew it as well. She never really lost her thirst for knowledge. She just lost the will to quench it. She hoped that Draco wouldn't start a _thing_ and bring it up.

To her surprise, he only shuddered.

"Where are people getting these expressions? I doubt Merlin would have chosen to become so prominent if he knew people would refer to his undergarments years after his death."

Looking at Draco as though he was insane, and then deciding that she shouldn't be surprised because he _was_, Hermione simply shook her head.

"Off topic. Again. So what do you propose we do while we wait for your fiancé to owl over the moose antlers?"

"_Ex_-fiancé," Draco corrected, noticing some sort of unidentified emotion behind Hermione's eyes before she raised her arms in surrender and spread her palms out in front of her, as if saying, 'Not my business; _really_ don't care', "and what did _you _have in for the next step, before we brew the potion?" Draco caught her eyes. "I assume you had some sort of plan in your head."

She looked to the side then back to him.

"Of course I had a plan. Brew the potion; drink the potion to cast the charm on Harry's tomb; find the bastard that killed him." She spread her arms out and grinned. "Master plan."

"That's it?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly thinking torture strategies… but now that you mention it—" Her eyes caught his impatient stance. "What? What is it you want me to say, smartarse?"

"How about that you have _proof_," he retorted. "I mean, this de-tracer could point to anyone in this bloody school and you'd only be halfway there in your accusation. And that's all it would be—an _allegation_. A conviction would take proof. Proof that this person is the murderer and didn't just fix Potter's glasses with his wand or hex his hair green before the true crime was committed."

Hermione, tired of being outdone and lectured, raised her chin defiantly, regaining some of that familiar hate she often found herself feeling for Draco Malfoy.

"If I cast the de-tracer, it'll find the wand of the person who last cast the spell on Harry, so it's impossible for it to find the wrong person. The last person that cast the spell on Harry is the fucker that killed him."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. This was all so elementary. To him, at least.

"Not if Potter was killed the Muggle way. Then you'd just accuse the wrong person and create an enormous scandal."

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she leaned over the table to stare Draco coldly in the eye.

"This _is_ a huge scandal and whomever the spell may point at _deserves_ to be scandalized," she gritted through her teeth. "Besides… the Ministry checked all possibilities regarding Harry's death and during their… _profound_—" Hermione spat distastefully, "—conclusion that it was a suicide, they explained that they found no fingerprints or any further evidence that Harry was killed. Magically or otherwise."

"But you don't _believe_ that!" Draco exclaimed, raising his voice for the first time since Hermione and he began working together. Standing up from his seat, he leaned over the table to meet Hermione's accusing face halfway. "You wouldn't be doing all this if you did. You don't believe he committed suicide and you can't possibly believe what those wankers at the Ministry _unearthed_." He shook his head as he watched her lose some of the confidence behind her angered expression. "You—_we_ need to find out who did this, when, how, and why. This can only work with all the facts and the complimentary proof." He sighed. "Otherwise, we have nothing."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed before she ran a hand through her hair and sat down.

"What do you propose we do… now?"

Draco took a seat, too.

"Well… I guess we should make a list of suspects. Sounds cheesy, I know, but we could call it something else."

"The list of bastards?" Hermione offered. Draco's lip turned up at a corner.

"Has a ring to it." He rubbed his chin. "So, you can take care of compiling the list. What? Did I really deserve that gesture? I wasn't _there_ that day. How close did you think Potter and I were?"

"And what will _you_ be doing? Frolicking and napping? No, I _know_—" Hermione cut Draco off as he began to say something, "—that I would rather do this myself but now you know too much. You're in on this." She leaned closer, her palms pressed on the table, eyes darker than chocolate. "And if you're in on this, you don't get to be the lazy arse I want to be."

Draco chuckled at the proposition.

"Whatever. I'll do my part by interviewing the people on the list—just as you'll be doing, but you have to come up with whoever it is you remember that was there that day near Potter."

"Fine. Done."

"Good, we can meet during next weekend's sixth year trip to the Mediwizard's Four Star Institute."

Hermione shrugged.

"Yeah. Whatever."

Draco gritted his teeth to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He hated the word _whatever_ but he kept his mouth shut. He was no hypocrite.

"There _is_ one more thing."

Hermione stood up, sighing and really feeling the fatigue settle upon in waves. Folding the parchment full of ingredients into halves, then fourths, and eighths, she stuffed it into her pocket and looked wearily at Draco.

"Of _course_, oh Master of detective work. And what it is that I seemed to overlook _now_?"

Draco stared at her, unsure of whether that was supposed to be a guilt trip or not. It wasn't his fault she couldn't properly see the flaws in her hit-and-run, rushed plan to clear the Golden Boy's name. She should have been _thanking _him for thinking clearly and making her plan plausible. Whatever it was, he knew one thing; he wasn't about to feel guilty when he actually being borderline decent.

"Above everyone else on the list, you have to talk to the one other person besides you that was closest to Potter, that had access to his room, his belongings, and knew of his whereabouts." He laced his hands behind his head as he sat back, sighing in exhaustion. "The other one of you lot he trusted."

Hermione's eyes caught his, fiery and uneasy.

She hadn't a doubt of whom he was speaking.

Author's Note:

Ha. I'm getting better. It wasn't _completely_ a year before I updated again. My next update, according my ultra mega super complicated system, is going to be for Sucker Love. And then back to this story. I feel that's the only way I'm going to get anything done. So if I'm not updating this, there's a chance I'm updating Sucker Love.

This chapter was actually really tough to write, especially at the beginning. But it's really kicking off the story nicely and the end just kind of wrote itself. Good interaction and base ground set between Draco and Hermione.

Um. All information given about moose in this chapter is true, as told to me by a true Canadian.

So if you think I'm wrong, too bad, because I'm not.

And review. Because believe it or not, I do update faster that way. If no one reviews, it gives me relief to know that I don't _ever_ have to update because no one is honestly waiting on another chapter.

Or are you?


	6. Authentic

Chapter 6

"Sodding hell, it can't be true. Look who's come to grace our humble abode," Seamus Finnigan's voice bounded through the red and golden common room as leisurely conversations slowed abruptly.

"We thought you'd started a House all your own, girly," Parvati chimed in from beneath Seamus' protective arm wrapped about her shoulders. "How is that working out for you, by the way? The solitude bit?"

Hermione let a small, grim smile grace her lips before she licked them and surveyed the familiar area she'd gotten so used to calling home over the years.

"I'm just looking for Ron," she explained tersely, suddenly wondering if she should have called him Ronald. Of course, it felt ridiculous to even have such a thought, but how long ago was it that they'd even exchanged polite 'hello's? It didn't feel like she had the right to utter his nickname; and yet, she'd never really called him _Ronald_.

Luckily, no one seemed to think anything of the uncomfortable tone of her voice or unfamiliar feeling of calling anyone by something intimate.

Seamus and Parvati simply stared back at her inquiring glance, sometimes sparing a few between themselves, as if silently communicating how strange it was that Hermione suddenly reared her holed-up and tucked-away self to the outside world. Hermione decided she didn't appreciate being gawked at as though she never stepped out to classes or sullied her skin with the sting of sunshine.

"Well… _we_ have no idea where that boy is," Seamus suddenly shared, eyes wide with realization of an expected answer. His eyes quickly strayed to his curious girlfriend who simply pursed her lips, quirked her eyebrows, and shrugged a shoulder in indifference. "He's not much for sticking around the common room and relaying information of his whereabouts."

"You could check the Quidditch field, I suppose," Parvati offered apathetically, studying her manicure. "He's got a match coming up."

"Or you can just check his room," Neville responded uncertainly from behind Hermione, taking his eyes off his homework for the time being as he deposited his quill beside him, dangerously close to the flickering fire. He stared at her for a moment, as though checking if some particular aspect of the top of her head had changed since the last time he'd seen it, when he cut her off as Hermione opened her mouth to speak. "How have you been, yourself?"

The portrait hole bore two grinning, breathless bodies immersed in a light-hearted conversation just as Hermione began her reply.

"…No flipping _way_ Seamus smoked it to get back at Bright at the cottage," Dean assured his companion, waving the possibility away with his hand. "Believe me, I _know_ his Mum and—"

"Whoa, whoa, what are you two…" Seamus began, gawking open-mouthed at his long-time best friend and underage associate in the discussion.

"_What_ did you smoke now, to get back at _whom_?" Parvati raised an accusing eyebrow at the boy sitting beside her, suddenly shocked and defensive, eyes bearing white flags of surrender.

"Nothing! I didn't smoke anything, I swear on my owl's mail route—_nothing_," he assured, once again sending a hot glare toward Dean. Dean, meanwhile, watched the amusing scene unfold between his buddy and his bird, finally spreading out his arms in triumph as he heard what he'd been waiting for.

"You hear that? I _told_ you, mate," Dean explained to an unconvinced Colin who was standing amidst the chatter, quietly observed, arms crossed across his robed chest. "Seamus would _never_…" Dean suddenly noticed the unusual silence in the common room. "Blimey, cats and their whiskers, is that Hermione I see standing in the middle of _our_ common room?"

"The one and only," a third year brunette confirmed from behind Neville's armchair, chin resting on the back as he observed the surprised expressions. "Although I'm still entertaining the idea that someone is pulling a Binns and sent a _mirage_ of Hermione here, just to catch us all off-guard." His eyes quickly met those of his annoyed peers. "Anyone with me?"

"Shut up, Everett," Colin silenced, obviously irritated with the boy's incessant joking.

"Definitely behind _that_ decision," Hermione muttered, aggravated. Looking up, she let a corner of her mouth quirk upward at both of the new arrivals. "Would either of you lads know where Ron could be?"

They both shrugged, obviously engaging in an unusual feeling of nostalgia at the familiarity of Hermione looking for Ron, like the way it used to be.

Hermione rolled her eyes, reminding herself exactly why she kept the sod out of this place when she was in her right mind.

"All right, well, I'm just going to be off then…" she sighed, heading toward the entrance, deciding that having a simple question-and-answer session with Ron was going to be harder than it sounded; even just locating him.

"Wait."

She turned slowly on her heel.

"Everett."

The third year approached her cautiously and looked as though he was going to place a hand on her shoulder for emphasis, but thought better of it at her heated glare.

"Just promise me that you're not an evil mirage of Hermione that was sent here to destroy Gryffindor peace and relay our secrets all over the halls of Hogwarts to aide the Dark Lord in his workings." His green eyes looked at her intensely as she struggled to find the proper words to express her feelings.

"Are you kid—" At the sight of his relentless, serious expectance, Hermione simply pursed her lips and looked down to prevent from leaking a smile, muttering something about that kid getting weirder and weirder since first year. Finally looking back up with a somewhat serious expression, Hermione placed her right hand over her heart resignedly. "I swear on my cat's hairballs, I'm the authentic Hermione you both know and fear."

Subjecting her to another intense gaze of a minute or so, Everett then broke into a large grin and snorted.

"No mirage could be that accurate," he informed her excitedly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I think I heard Ron say something about going down to McGonagall's after dinner."

"Thanks, Evie. The Dark Lord couldn't have put his plan to action without you."

* * *

Cho slapped his cheek softly a couple of times, grinning and shaking her head at the same time.

"You're losing your touch, dear," she tutted patronizingly. "You'd never lose a schedule if you weren't."

Draco caught her hand, prying it away from his cheek while his eyes narrowed at her playfully.

"_No_ touching… of the face…" he enunciated before dropping her hand and leaning back in his chair on the two back legs. "And you're a Prefect too, doll. You got the same schedule as I did—and I am neither its nor your keeper."

Cho shook her head again and slung her backpack over one shoulder.

"How many times have we had this same talk, Rack?" Cho asked, a mock-disappointed expression on her face as she leaned back on the table, facing him. "You're my go-to man, not a _keeper_. And what kind of go-to man doesn't have this week's schedule for me since I lost mine?"

He ignored her pout and set his front chair legs back on the ground.

"The kind that can _go to_ great lengths and kick major arse if you don't stop calling me Rack," he threatened half-heartedly as Cho pushed off the table and headed toward the door. "You make me sound like a set of tits."

Cho's laughter was his only answer as she left without even a glance back toward him.

"Well, if you object to 'set of tits' then perhaps she should've called you a pu—"

Draco grasped the shiny button on the breast of his robe and deliberately shined it in Blaise's face as the boy approached before he had a chance to continue.

"—Prefect badge, prefect badge, oh the power you give me," he grinned maliciously, daring the dark-haired student to continue his sentence.

"Like you're the epitome of all that is pure," the boy retorted, straddling a chair backward as he sat at the table across from Draco. Draco grinned at the allegation.

"Hardly. I just don't like you." His smile dropped. "What do you want?"

"I want to know how our project is going, your blondness," he responded uncaringly. Draco looked mildly shocked that the kid even remembered. "Don't look so surprised. I pay attention in class."

Draco sighed in irritation.

"Well, now I'm just going to have to give you detention for blatantly lying."

"Seriously, man," he continued as though no real threats were issued. "We've got a presentation to make on that Sir Whoever bloke and half of the presenting is expected of _me._ Whatever Binns was thinking I'm sure was under some sort of illegal influence, but he assigned it nonetheless, so…"

"So you should be offering to help me instead of expecting that I'll do all of the fucking work and then tell you what to say," Draco snapped, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes.

"Whoa," Blaise reeled, holding up his arms in defense, "don't blind me so with all that righteousness and purity. I now see the wrong of my ways in language before."

Without so much as another look at Blaise, Draco stood from his chair, grabbed his knapsack and headed for the door.

"Have fun failing, Zabini. I'm certain it won't hurt to have one more Troll mark to join all the rest on your transcript."

Rolling his eyes, Blaise launched himself from the chair and took a few hurried strides to fall into step with the absconding Draco.

"What hippograff hurdled up your arse, Malfoy?" he shot back, now fairly furious. "We've got to do something about this now, while I was able to track your pale derrière down. I mean, you didn't get back to the dungeons last night until the wee hours of dawn and you didn't even have that 'just got laid' expression about you." He stopped, exasperated, causing Draco to pause briefly, though his face remained expressionless. "And I don't predominantly have any desire to talk to you _again_, so—"

"You know my 'just got laid' expression?" Draco scrunched up his face as he looked at his housemate. "I'm flattered."

Blaise winked at him.

"Don't be. At least not until you've seen my shrine to you and your Greek-god-like body," he salivated mockingly. Draco smirked.

"Now, I'm _really_ flattered," he flipped him the bird. Blaise caught up with Draco as he began walking again, batting his eyelashes at him.

"Don't tempt me with those ideas, Rack." Walking in front of him, Blaise observed Draco stop—due to the obstruction of his way—and raise an eyebrow at him. "You want me to help you with the project shit this weekend?"

Draco was about to wave it off in an effort to just shake Blaise and be on his merry way _anywhere_ else, but then stopped in his tracks.

"Actually, this weekend's not good for me." He looked at the air before him pensively. "I'm busy one of those days."

Blaise shrugged.

"And can this _other_ day be spared for insignificant activity like sparing your grade?" Draco's brows furrowed in superiority.

"I don't need an entire day to spare my grade; I could do this in my sleep. It's _your_ sorry hide that needs the rescuing. I'm doing this for _you_."

"Oh, yes, my savior. So which day is good for my salvaging, Christ?" Blaise frowned as he shook his head. "And what the sod is so important this weekend, in any case?"

"Thursday after Quidditch practice," Draco belted out. His eyes narrowed marginally as his defensiveness began to work overtime. "And none of your levitating business."

* * *

"Oh, I'm so—" Ginny's eyes bored into Hermione's as they looked at each other from their kneeling positions. The initial shock wearing off, Ginny dusted off her books and picked them up, beating Hermione to the task. Taking her eyes of the brunette's, Ginny cleared her throat and looked away. "Sorry."

"Yeah, me too," Hermione replied cautiously, sensing an air of hostility around the redhead.

Ginny nodded and moved to step around Hermione to hurry up the stairs to her next class.

"Wait… Ginny," Hermione tested it out on her tongue, her friend's name sounding foreign to her, "I… um…"

Ginny pursed her lips and stared at the floor as she waited for Hermione to spit out whatever it was she wanted to say.

"What?"

That snapped Hermione out of it. She wasn't anyone to the redhead anymore. She didn't know why, but Ginny's demeanor spoke volumes. Why was she tongue-tied all of a sudden if Ginny didn't give a crap what she had to say? Hermione wasn't part of the Golden Trio anymore, not Harry's best friend anymore because Harry was _dead_, so why talk to her?

"Nothing," she replied bitterly, shaking her head at the ground. "Is Ron in there by any chance?"

Ginny looked at the door to the Transfiguration classroom, then back to Hermione. Her expression was one of warning.

"You want to talk to Ron?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Pretty much the only action I was going to inflict upon him, yes."

Ginny scowled at the unnecessary eye roll.

"Don't. Leave him alone. He doesn't need any of this, especially now." Her hostility, this time in words, spoke volumes. She wanted Hermione nowhere near her brother or herself, for that matter. Hermione was thankful that the rest of the Gryffindor weren't so hostile back in the common room.

"So he's in there?" Hermione asked, a mask of innocence upon her face. Ginny's face gained two shades of red.

"What part of 'leave him alone' entails you needing to know where he is?" She stepped closer; probably a threatening tactic on her part. Hermione chuckled bitterly, looking away for a moment. This was about to get ugly.

"The part where I need to talk to him," Hermione took her own step closer to Ginny. She was vaguely aware of the challenge the younger Weasley was issuing her and the challenge she seemed to be accepting in the process. Despite the temptation to let off some anger and built-up frustration over the whole Harry situation and that _whole_ Draco situation, she didn't want to start a fight. She really hoped it wouldn't come to that. Although, she hadn't a doubt in her mind, that if push came to shove, Weasley arse was going to be kicked.

Ginny's mouth opened to say something when the door beside them opened, and both heads turned to the student in the exit.

"Ginny, what are you still… Hermione?" His face was a mask of confusion, questions compiling in his mind with every passing moment. Ginny simply stepped back and turned her head back to the girl in front of her.

"Nothing, Ron. Hermione was just leaving, was she not?"

Hermione felt the need to roll her eyes again, but refrained from doing so at that particular moment.

"Actually, Hermione was just going to talk to you," Hermione answered, much to the dismay of Ginny and her rising temper. "Do you mind, Ron?"

The redhead just stared at the curly-headed Gryffindor he hadn't spoken to in ages and licked his lips in a diversionary tactic, stunned, and at a loss of words. Just as Ginny was about to speak some more of her mind to Hermione, however, his silence failed him.

"No, it's okay, Ginny. You can go ahead, I'll catch up with you in a minute." He paused to look at his sister. "I'm serious, bodyguard of mine, I'll manage to take care of myself somehow. No matter _how_ tempting it is for someone to take advantage of a helpless six-foot chaser."

Rolling her eyes, Ginny finally departed, without so much as a parting glance of acknowledgement toward Hermione.

"Thanks, I really didn't mean to anger her like that. I wasn't trying to—"

"Fine," Ron held up his hand, then shoved both of them into his pockets. "Is something wrong?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, speechless.

"Wrong?" she asked confused, as he moved to elaborate. "Oh, no, nothing like that, I just… I just wanted to talk to you about something, and you have to know that this is really, _really_ important, otherwise I wouldn't bother you with this."

Ron nodded in understanding, but made no other sign or expression to show that he was even paying attention to what she was saying. Hermione hated blank, expressionless faces when she talked.

"I wanted to talk…" she ran a hand through her hair, deciding to just approach it head-on. "I wanted to talk to you about Harry… and the day he died. I don't mean to pry, but you _did_ share a dormitory with him, and I just need for you to tell me who he was with… _that_ day and… and who was in the common—" Hermione's brow furrowed as she watched Ron shake his head and walk away. "Where do you think you're going?"

It also pissed her off when people left in the middle of her sentence.

Turning around, Ron looked at her as though searching for some sort of emotion on her face indicating that she understood why he couldn't stay. The stubborn expression on her face signified no such realization and he shook his head again, but less because of his annoyance and more out of pity for her.

He pitied her from his heart more than he could say. And yet, he couldn't help but feel angry with her for doing this to him.

Walking up to her confused and agitated face, he opened his mouth to say something then shut it.

"Do you know _why_ we haven't talked in such a long time, Hermione?" he finally managed to ask, through all of his impossibly heated emotions that caused a suffocating lump in his throat. "No, it wasn't because you locked yourself in your room and refused to open the door, or because you spent all of your free time _away_ from any living, breathing human beings. It was because whenever the rarity of you opening your mouth occurred, it was _always_ about Harry." He raked an irritated hand through his hair as he looked forcibly into her eyes. "Do you think I _want_ to talk about Harry with you? Do you think it's _fun_ for me to relive that day over and over again while you play junior detective?"

Swallowing, Hermione stepped back from his harsh words, her ire inside of her only steadily building, but her words—for the time being—failed her splendidly.

She watched Ron put a hand to his chest emphatically.

"I have _finally_ moved on." Before he walked away, he turned his head back around one last time. "Do the same."

* * *

Author's Note:

I am _so_ happy, you guys.

Can you _believe_ that I finished this chapter the very _day_ after I posted the last one? That's got to be some kind of record for me. I mean, I had writer's block with the last one, but this one… this one just kind of wrote itself. Sure, I didn't _post_ it the day after, but come on now, I didn't want to shock the hell out of you guys.

Wow.

Since this miraculous deal happened, you shouldn't expect chapter 7 for at least another 6 months, then.

Ha, joking. I hope. We'll see.

And there's the Ron you people have been wanting to see so badly. Jesus Christ, if Harry's gone, you guys can't possibly be satiated with just having Draco. No, it's all about 'where's Ron?' 'What happened to Ron?' Maybe Ron was never born in this universe. Okay, going a little overboard. You got your Ron.

Anyway, that's it for this chapter.

Hope you enjoyed it.

Beach.


	7. Ginger

Chapter 7

"Well, don't you sound like you have a way with people," Draco raised an eyebrow as he leaned back against the trunk of the tree, wary of its ant-infested surface.

"And I'm getting this from Draco Malfoy, of all fucking people," Hermione sat cross-legged opposite him, a tired expression on her face. Tired from emotion. Exhausted from trying to figure it out.

"I'd wager I could talk to my best friend somewhat successfully if I tried," he replied coolly, smiling slightly at the agitation building in her body language. "Now we're minus the Weasley testimony."

"We're not. We just have to wait until he… cools down a little," she rebutted, mentioning nothing of her own irritation. "And stop sounding like we're on a cheesy court trial show."

Clearing his throat, Draco simply raised his eyebrows in boredom and disapproval. "I'm just trying to help. You mind following suit?"

"Shut up," she shook her head, disgusted, "just shut up. Don't turn this around on me and my inability to get through to Ron. He's just… mad for whatever reason—a reason I have _no_ desire to figure out—so we can just move on. It's not like Ron killed Harry."

Draco raised an eyebrow in her direction when she'd looked away and studied her agitated form carefully, but decided not to expand on his thoughts.

"Okay," he said finally, earning a surprised look from Hermione as she sharply turned her gaze back. "Who next?"

"I don't know," the brunette replied truthfully. "I—I thought of some Gryffindor who might have been there but I don't know if they'd talk to me, especially with the way Ron reacted. Ginny's also got something in for me. I don't know which of them would even take me seriously." Her tone was fairly neutral as she spoke, but her dull eyes expressed her disappointment in finally feeling the ramifications of closing herself off from her friends. "So… I don't know how much help that would be."

The two fell silent, Hermione idly twirling the folded up parchment that allegedly contained names of her fellow housemates. Slowly, Draco reached forward and caught the parchment between his fingers, carefully removing it from Hermione's grasp as their eyes locked. Her gaze on him was questioning and long and solemn, but it didn't contain any malice, which was almost a compliment. If anything, he felt like she was asking him why he was here, helping her when she was obviously so unglued. It was the most vulnerability she'd ever shown him directly.

"I can do it," he volunteered, looking down at the paper and breaking their gaze. "They may hate me but they'll take me seriously. Or they'll comply just to get me to leave."

Shrugging, Hermione took that as her cue to look away and stare at the calm, cold lake. "I guess."

"You guess?" Draco asked, pocketing the parchment. "If you were any more enthusiastic…"

"If you were any more a pain in my ass," she replied without missing a beat. Getting to her feet, Hermione looked down at him. "Just don't fuck it up."

Smirking, Draco shook his head and wondered who was fiddling with the hot and cold taps on that girl as she walked away. "Aye aye," he chuckled to her retreating back and stood up himself.

That night, Hermione's mind couldn't help but keep her awake. She readjusted her pillow beneath her head more times than she could count. Rolling onto her side with her face resting on her hand, she wondered what she would say to Harry's murderer. For some reason, having Draco Malfoy delegate and help her with the investigation suddenly alerted her to the reality of finally meeting the person that killed Harry. Or people. She couldn't even imagine what she would say; what she would do. Of course, her initial response way back when would have been to kill them with a flick of a wand. It would be that easy and they'd be gone and her heart would heal and birds would chirp and the skies would produce the warm sun out of nowhere.

Now, she knew it wouldn't be that easy. She wanted to avenge Harry's death so badly, but she'd never actually seen a destination in front of her along with these thoughts of vengeance; she'd never seen the finish line and hadn't honestly, if she was true to herself, thought she ever would.

Now, with Malfoy's help, the finish line was visible and the goal was set. They were springing—or maybe _he_ was springing—the operation into action and they were going to find out who killed Harry.

She was scared as she stared out into the dark air. And she hoped she was ready.

* * *

Scratching his head, Draco sighed as he saw the familiar red hair pass him in the shadows. Stepping into the flowing crowd, he tapped his target on the shoulder.

"Weasley," he grinned, and then smiled as he saw her frown. "Ginny Weasley."

"Is my name," she nodded, raising an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Any particular reason you're checking, Malfoy?"

"A little paranoid, are we?"

"I would think you'd be offended if I wasn't," she replied.

He paused. "True, that."

"Is there something you want?" Ginny shifted the books resting on her hip.

"Actually," he guided her aside from the moving bodies migrating to class. "There might be a little something."

The redhead's eyes leveled with Draco's. "Might there?"

* * *

Hermione's curls bounced as she dropped into a vacant armchair beside him, pulling down the book in which he seemed engrossed.

"Ginny's been glaring at me all day," she informed him neutrally, before folding her legs under her and sitting back. "I take it you talked to her."

Draco met her eyes briefly before reaching for a bookmark. "Yeah. Bloody waste of time that was, but we can check her off the list."

Shrugging, Hermione watched Draco put the book into his bookbag. "Well, she wasn't exactly my prime suspect. She and Harry were pretty close."

"Yeah, they were mates," Draco rolled his eyes, "plus, she was completely hung up on him. And while ruling her out would be daft, it's just…" he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, "…not her."

"Yeah," Hermione frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

Draco looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, is something wrong? You look…" she paused, "tired."

"Thanks," he grimaced, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, you do."

"Well, I had Quidditch practice which I ditched in favor of interviewing Ginny," he said bitingly, "and I had to practice sometime. Now I remember why I prefer it in the daytime."

Hermione could see the tense, sore muscles of his body unable to relax in his chair as he radiated discomfort and exhaustion. "Oh."

"Yes, oh," Draco replied, standing up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have class. I assume you do as well, or are there special rules for private investigators such as yourself?"

Folding her arms across her chest, Hermione rolled her eyes upward toward his. "I don't know, partner-in-crime; you tell me."

Lowering his face dangerously close to hers, noses almost touching, he made her stomach churn and breath hitch at his near proximity. "No."

Then he left the library and left her sitting and staring in his direction.

* * *

"You're on the wrong page," he whispered as he leaned over her shoulder before taking a seat beside her.

If she was surprised at his voice, she didn't show it. Her eyes simply met his in hello and returned to the classwork the professor had written for them to start on the chalkboard.

Draco, in turn, pulled out his own book and started turning the pages to the correct one, before glancing a look at Hermione once more. The white-skied morning was evident as the light from the windows beat down on classroom, silhouetting Hermione's form and highlighting the shine in her loosely pulled-back curls as she sat bent over her work, one leg beneath her.

He couldn't not look.

Feeling someone's eyes on her, Hermione looked up and caught Draco staring at her. Moving her eyes uncertainly to both sides of her, she decided that he was really looking, at length, at her.

"Malfoy."

Receiving no signs that he was alive, she tried again, chancing a look at their oblivious professor, reading in the corner of the room.

"Hey. Malfoy. I _know_ you don't want me to squirt you with something cold and acidic, so snap out of it," she hissed, eyes twinkling amusedly as he started to blink rapidly, regaining control of his sight and motor skills.

"Thanks," he replied, "for taking non-acidic action."

"I have great will-power," she smirked and looked back to her book.

As she looked at the words, she found herself suddenly unable to comprehend their meaning, and instead caught her mind traveling toward thoughts of the boy sitting next to her and their unspoken peace treaty, prohibiting any unplanned or planned assaults or injuries on each other. And what had come of that peace treaty.

"Malfoy," she leaned over discreetly.

"Comma Draco."

"Can I ask you something?"

His eyebrow went up in curiosity, but he did not look up from his assignment. "I don't see a point in stopping you."

Rolling her eyes, she fiddled with the corner of page, folding it back and then unfolding it. "How do you have an ex-fiancée?"

He continued writing for a minute or two before he showed any signs of hearing her question at all. When he did, he dropped his quill, laced his hands behind his back and stretched his sore muscles.

"Why do you care?"

Eyes widening a fraction at the logical yet, somehow, harsh statement, she recoiled and leaned back to her rightful position over her book. "Don't flatter yourself. I _don't_."

He grinned. "Do you always ask people about stuff you don't care for?"

Narrowing her eyes at him, Hermione hissed, "Constantly."

"Time-consuming habit you've got there, don't you think?"

"So is interacting with wretched little blond mosquitoes named Malfoy."

"Ouch," Draco frowned, "but it least you thought outside the box. I was almost sure there was going to be mention of ferrets."

Dropping her quill, Hermione turned to him. "Well, there's still time."

Grinning contentedly, he stared her down joyfully until she turned away in huff and picked up her quill. Watching her write, he unlinked his fingers and moved to turn the page in his book.

"As long as you don't care about—"

"I don't."

* * *

_"Ron, we have to go in there," Hermione insisted, reaching for the door knob. "He's miserable."_

_"He needs some time, Mione," Ron explained as calmly as his nerves would allow. "I think I know my best mate."_

_"Oh, and I don't?" she challenged, eyes flashing. "We should be in there supporting him and—and giving him less to dwell on. We can't leave him alone in there with his thoughts."_

_"I know you mean well—"_

_"There better not be a 'but' floating around after that, Ronald Weasley," Hermione fumed._

_"_But_," Ron pressed on, "Harry was close to Dumbledore—closer than either of us. If you think we took it hard, how do you think he feels? What can we possibly say to make him feel better? He just needs to be alone."_

_Opening her mouth to refute the redhead's logic, her arguments fell short as she simply pressed her lips together in defeat._

_"He'll be fine," Ron promised. His eyes were reassuring and trustworthy and his hand on her arm was warm._

_"I really, really hope so, Ron," she whispered, looking down. "I don't even think _I'm_ going to be fine anytime soon."_

_"We all loved Dumbledore," he offered in explanation. "I still think I'm going to sneak down to the kitchens, get caught by Filch and be dragged to Dumbledore's office where he'll offer me a lemon drop."_

_They both stood in silence outside the boys' dormitory. _

_"I thought…" Hermione started, taking an uneven breath. "It's like I never thought he'd die. It just… never occurred to me, you know? God, I sound like the dumbest person in the world, but I never thought we'd be without him one day. I mean I must've _known_ but…"_

_Ron tilted her chin up with his index finger. "I know what you mean."_

_Shaking her head in disgust, Hermione looked away. "And it's not because of the stupid war, either. He survived that like he was supposed to and now he just had the _nerve_ to…" She paused, unsure of what word to fill in the blank for her feelings._

_"Give up?" Ron offered._

_"Let go," she whispered, holding back the tears with force. "It's been almost a bloody year, Ron. Why _now_?"_

_The redhead smiled sadly at his friend. "I don't think it was scheduled, Mione."_

_"Of course it wasn't scheduled. Do you think I'm stupid?" Hermione's eyes flashed, but she wasn't angry at him and he knew it. Letting it pass, he closed the distance between them and enveloped her in his arms, placing a small kiss atop her head._

_Pulling back, Hermione looked at the wooden block that separated her from her other best friend. "You really think he'll be okay?"_

_Ron looked to the door as well. "I do."_

_She buried her face against Ron's sweater again, retreating back into his embrace. "Good, because I don't know what I think."_

Kicking a loose pebble with her foot, Hermione watched the Gryffindor Quidditch team do laps around the pitch from the bleachers, the red blast of hair blurry to her at the speed his broom carried him. Beside her, Draco sat and studiously attended to Potions homework, idly muttering obscenities under his breath about the brunette being crazy and the weather being cruelly arctic.

Hermione's cheeks were rosy from said weather and her face was screwed up into a grimace from the harsh cold wind against her vulnerable skin and from the unjustified feeling of pure betrayal. She kept watching him do his laps and wondered if he was as cold as she was.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

So, okay. When I joked about not updating for another six months, who knew that would turn out to hold much truth? Ha ha... ha? Nobody, okay.

My apologies, and it's not like I was busy or anything. I mean, I'm always busy to a degree but I had time to updated _Stranded Pieces_ and and a little _Love Conquers All_. I was just kind of stuck on where to go from here on this story.

So, it's really thanks to Priah that I got off my butt (metaphorically, cause when I'm on the computer I'm sitting) and revisited the aspect of this story and its plot. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Beach.


End file.
